We'll Get Back To Who We Were
by itmight-neverhappen
Summary: Nearly a year has passed since a night no one is willing to talk about, but when the man in the middle of it all comes back, can old wounds finally be healed? Multiple pairings and eventual slash
1. Photographs

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN SOUTH PARK, OR ANYTHING RELATED (not from lack of trying though)  
****Hi, I'm Amy, and I hope you enjoy my dark little story... If you do, there's a review button riiiigggghhhhttt down there, please press it?  
****Enjoy,  
****-Amy x**

They say photos tell a story, and I guess that's true. Photographs capture a moment in time, allowing you to recall and reflect on that moment years later.  
Photographs... they show a lot, but they hide a lot too. Again that's what they say, and I've grown accustomed to ignoring everything that THEY say.

'What was happening in this picture Kyle? It's a nice picture, isn't it?' The woman sat in front of him smiled, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.  
Kyle glared at her as he took the offered photograph from her hand, looking at it for a moment before throwing it down onto the small table placed between the two of them, 'It's me and my friends. We look happy. Is that what you're getting at?'  
The woman's smile grew wider as she prompted him 'Why were you all so happy? Where was this taken? Who took it? How did you feel then? How does it make you feel looking at it now?'  
Kyle remained silent, his face blank and unmoved by her incessant questions. Without a word he stood and turned away from her, walking towards the pale wood door, stopping before leaving,  
'I'm going back to my room.'  
She sighed and nodded, beginning to gather up the photographs splayed over the table. With her head bowed, she didn't notice Kyle observing her, mentally noting everything about her. She wasn't tall, but she wasn't short – she was completely averagely sized. In weight, too, she was average. Her permanently tanned skin made make up redundant but she still wore it. His emerald eyes scanned the sugar-pink painted lips that matched the colour of her nails, the foundation just a shade away from matching her skin tone, the mascara that she had rubbed into the creases beneath her muddy green-brown eyes, the dark blonde hair that was tumbling out of a bun. She looked as she always did – put together, but starting to fall apart. He almost smiled at that, the idea that even the people put in charge felt the effects of this place.  
He left swiftly, letting the door shut silently behind him, and began walking the narrow corridor that led to his room without conscious thought. His mind was stuck on the image he'd been shown, the picture taken three years ago. Four 15 year olds laughing together and waving at the camera, sat holding ice-cream outside a dark green house despite the snow littering the ground.  
Kyle stopped, having reached his door. He paused before opening it, taking a calming breath before pushing on the pale wood.  
Pale wood.  
Surrounded by white walls.  
With a silver handle.  
The whole place was washed out and cold. He hated it.  
Pushing open the door, he entered quietly, eyeing the room as he had the councillor, with distaste. White walls. Thin, scratchy grey carpet. White blinds. Pale wood bed frame. White furniture. The only thing he liked was his bedding – it was dark blue, with golden stars on the underside.  
There were no mirrors in his bedroom, or in the bathroom.  
The room was plain. It had two beds, one empty, two bedside tables, a bookcase, two small wardrobes, and a window. The door didn't lock.  
Kyle hated it.  
Strangely exhausted by the short walk, he collapsed onto the bedsheets, comforted slightly by their silky feel, before something caught his eye. Three letters lay innocently on his bedside table and, try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to ignore them. He knew what one would be – his mother's weekly letter from home – and he would read that one last. The other two were complete mysteries to him.  
Choosing the thinner-feeling one to read first, he placed the other two carefully on his pillow, ripping open the brown envelope and shaking out the single sheet of a minute of opening said letter, his eyes were filled with tears.  
It was his high school diploma.  
He had graduated, but missed his graduation. Just like he'd missed most of his senior year.  
'Don't think of that' he chided himself, reaching for the second mystery letter.  
He paused before opening it, considering what it could be, before letting the temptation overcome his worries.

_Patient name: Kyle Isaac Broflovksi  
Age: 18  
St Mary's Ward_

_Following your next of kin's (mother) request and careful study of your progress, we are delighted to inform that you have been granted permission to spend the following 4 weeks at home.  
You will be escorted out of the building tomorrow morning at 0900. Please pack your possessions carefully.  
With regards,  
Dr. Adams_

Kyle's breathing hitched in his throat. He was going home.  
Suddenly, reading his mother's letter didn't seem as important, now that he knew he'd see her tomorrow. He'd see his mother.  
That thought was repeating over and over in his mind.  
After almost five months of isolation from the outside world, he was going home. He would see his mother, his father, Ike, his old friends...  
His face fell, as his mind thought once again of the picture the councillor had shown him less than half an hour ago. The photograph of himself, his two best friends, and the jerk that had followed him around and called himself their friend.  
They were four 15 year old boys. Now they were four 18 year old men. Their childhood had turned sour before they even realised it had ever been sweet.  
If they were there, could he face them? Knowing what they had done to him, what he had done to them, could he look them in their eyes and talk as normal people talk?  
He checked his watch, reading the time to be five to seven. Too early to sleep, but knowing that his mother would be arriving for him in just 15 hours made him sure he'd not manage any sleep that night.  
15 hours to wait.  
16 hours until he would see his family.  
17 hours until he would see someone who didn't know where he'd gone, or why.  
17 hours until he would have to explain the clinic, the hospital, everything.  
Nothing to do but wait.  
_  
_


	2. Drinks

**Thanks for all the favourites and subscriptions guys, they're insanely appreciated! New chapter, so delving into a different character this time.**  
**Not going to give anything away, but I will say that this chapter is laid out differently and there is a reason for this that will become apparent in a later chapter.**  
**Right, I'll stop babbling now, and enjoy the chapter (:**  
**- Amy x**

Do me a favour and picture the most stereotypical jock you can, the perfect example of a high school seniors quarterback. Or, better yet, let me describe myself and we'll see how the two match up, shall we?  
Athletic build, check.  
Grades high enough to keep me on the team, check.  
Dating the head cheerleader, check.  
Popular and liked by everyone, check.  
Clear skin, strong jaw, nice face, hair that always looks perfectly messed up, check.  
Without feeding my own ego too much, I'm pretty much the perfect example of how the world views typical American teenagers.  
But then there's... Well, there's the other traits. Depressive alcoholic? Check. In need of anti-depressants? Check.  
The reason my best friend missed his senior year? Maybe.

00  
One week earlier.

'MARSH!' The deep voice of the coach rumbled from the office, alerting the entire locker room that something had come to the formidable man's attention. Wasting no time, the boy being called pulled on his jeans, leaving his chest bare, and headed to the source of the yelling.  
'You wanted to see me, Coach?' Stan asked casually. Unlike the majority of the team, he didn't hold any fear of the 6'7, 300lbs man in front of him. The man in question merely huffed, gesturing to the only other chair in the office.  
'I got the breakdown of your grades, Marsh, and I gotta say I'm impressed. You've really upped your game this year, on the pitch and off. All As and Bs, and you took to the wildcat formation well tonight. You've grown a lot since the rough patch at the start of the year, and I'm proud of you.'  
The ebony-haired boy just smirked; he was far too used to having his ego flattered by the ex-professional quarterback, and his mind was only half on the compliments, the other distracted of thoughts of how his date with his girlfriend would go later.  
'Sorry Coach, not to rush you or anything, but I've got a date later and I need to get ready...'  
The coach waved his hand, catching the boy's attention and breaking him out of his female-centred daydream.  
'There is a reason behind this, Marsh. I got a phone call earlier, passed on through the office, from a Mrs... Bro-flov-ski? Anyway I only needed to let you know that you're no longer needed at practise; what with your graduation in a few days, and me needing to start whipping the juniors into shape, and this woman wanted me to tell you 'he'll be home in a week'? She said you'd know what she meant.'  
The azure-eyed boy sat frozen to his seat, shocked beyond movement for a moment before forcing himself to regain composure. Numbly getting to his feet, he realised how stupid he must look with his hair damp and sticking to him, his feet and torso bare in this suddenly cramped room. Turning on his heel with a rushed 'see you later, coach', he nearly ran back to his locker, shoving his clothes and shoes on without so much as looking at any of his teammates before leaving in a hurry, his hair still dripping down his back.

Reaching the parking lot in record time, he barely suppressed a groan at seeing his long-term girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger, leaning prettily against his car. Like the majority of students from South Park Elementary, she had grown into looks, blossoming into a very attractive young woman. The weak sunlight, streaking the hurrying boy's hair with midnight blue highlights, was causing Wendy's own hair to glow a deep purple-red, whilst a gentle breeze made it flutter across her chest, making the boy notice her outfit for the first time. A simple white tank top clung to her toned figure, whilst a lilac micro-mini, violet knee-high socks, and plain black flats emphasised her long legs. Her boyfriend stopped, temporarily distracted from the matter at hand by the sight of all her skin on display. It was only when she started walking forward, her hips swaying unnecessarily, that he caught sight of himself in his car window's reflection. His handsome face was pale, his sapphire eyes were wide, and he was unknowingly chewing on his bottom lip. Seeing himself, and glancing once more at his girlfriend, his mind was back on the right subject.  
'Wendy' he panted slightly before she could say anything 'I can't make tonight, I'm so sorry but something's come up'  
Wendy pouted slightly, her pretty face scrunching as she surveyed the boy before her. He looked good, she thought, with his hair falling loose and damp, framing his tanned skin. That was the thing about him, he always looked good.  
'Why not, Stan? This has been planned for over a week, what's come up?' Her girly voice was full of concern, but had an empty undertone, as though she didn't really care.  
'It's... family stuff' Stan's pause was barely tangible

'Oh. Well, I guess I can always just go hang with Red or someone, I've not seen the girls in a while'

Surprised at her lack of resistance, Stan let her stretch up onto her toes and kiss his cheek gently, before waving her fingers at him and flipping her phone out of her pocket as she walked away. Climbing into his car his mind was consumed, for the first time in a while, with just one thought: _Kyle._

00

It's been a week, and you know what I've learnt? Sobriety sucks.  
What, the manic drunk can't get drunk without being judged? Screw you. Screw everyone.  
Ha, Wendy has screwed everyone. She thinks I don't know this, but come on, everyone brags about her in the locker room. They started ripping on me for it, dating someone so easy, until I took one of them down.  
I don't even remember who it was.  
Wait, yes I do. Cartman.

Eric fucking Theodore Cartman.

Fat piece of shit.

Well he's not fat anymore, he lost a shitload of weight in our first three years of high school... But we don't talk about that.

It's a truce we've got. The four musketeers! Or some shit like that.  
Me, Cartman, Kenny... And Kyle.  
Those first three years of high school, we didn't know this is how senior year'd end, did we?  
God, I miss Kyle. He had these eyes, right, pansy-coloured eyes. No, they weren't purple, they were... Some other colour.  
And his hair, it was this brilliant shade of... something. Was it black? Blonde? I can't even picture him, I can just picture Wendy. Why isn't she here? She does everyone, but her 'boyfriend' isn't good enough? I am good enough, I fucking mean it.  
I need more beer. More vodka. More whiskey. More everything.  
Maybe if I keep drinking, I'll forget that Kyle is supposed to be coming home tomorrow. I've forgot nearly everything else about him, why can't I forget that?  
If he comes back he'll bring the fucking past back to South Park, and nothing I can drink can make me forget that. If I see him, it'll come rushing back and I can't fucking deal with it. Yeah I know what you're thinking; what's he on about? This big, popular quarterback with a slut for a girlfriend, what's he got to forget?  
I swear, if you knew.  
What's that clock say? It's all blurry. Wait... Half seven. That means he'll be back in some amount of hours I can't work out.  
Probably not long to wait though.  
Great.


	3. Cigarettes

**I'm so sorry about the wait, I had some real-life dramas to deal with and then I got major writers block, which sucks so bad, and explains the shortness and crappiness of this chapter.  
But enough excuses. If I've got any readers left, this update's for you!  
As a warning, there's a lot of swearing in this chapter, and I'm also just going to apologise in advance for how filler-y these first chapters are, they're mainly so you get a feel of what each main character is like, and after the next chapter I'll get onto actual plot things.  
And thanks for the reviews, they make me smile (:  
Enjoy,  
Amy xx**

There's one thing that's connected me to the same three assholes since we were fourteen.  
Nicotine.  
Blame the poor shit, or the fucking Super Best Friends, or even me for all I care about your opinion. Why should I care what you think of me? I don't. Fuck you, I don't know you and you're probably as big an asshole as those three.  
Shit, now I've lost my train of thought. Where was I?  
Oh yeah, nicotine. Cigarettes. Unfiltered, filtered, rolled, menthol.  
They meant different things to all of us, but the bond it forged between the four of us was, is, still enough to make me sick.  
Maybe you've realised how fucked up we all ended up, maybe you haven't. I could tell you things about everyone, things that'd shock you beyond belief, but what's the point? I don't give a fuck what you think, I don't give a fuck about those three, here's me letting two birds live by leaving the fucking stone alone.

00

Clothes littered the carpet of Cartman's room, hiding schoolbooks, papers, games, books, lighters. The entirety of his personality could be decoded by staring into the mess of his bedroom for long enough. The boy in question was laid on his bed, half-hidden beneath the duvet, when he heard someone gently rapping on his door.  
'Eric honey? There's a call for you, do you want me to-' Liane's overly-sweet voice drifted through the wood before she was interrupted,  
'Go away mom, I'm busy'.  
'But poopsikins it's your little friend, Stan'  
Eric sat up at that, groaning as he rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes  
'What does that asshole want?' He asked shortly  
'I don't know, he said he wanted to talk directly to you' Liane paused 'He just said it was urgent'.  
Another groan escaping his lips, Eric stood and carefully negotiated his way across the battlefield of his floor before leaving, passing his mother without another word. It didn't take long to reach the landline, and his hand instinctively moved to his jeans pocket, grasping for a cigarette and a lighter as he picked up the phone.  
'What do you want, asshat? We don't talk anymore, remember?' He lit his cigarette, taking in a deep drag as he awaited a reply from the silent phone.  
Stan's voice mumbled incoherently down the phone, irritating Eric deeply.  
'Take the dick out your mouth, fag, I can't understand you'  
Another incoherent reply rumbled down the phone before he heard Stan clear his throat and try again  
'Come to Stark's' came the still-slightly-garbled statement.  
'Fuck you' Eric answered almost instantly 'It's freezing out and I'm not driving all the way to Stark's just so you can have your faggy way with me'  
Eric could picture Stan's face clearly, down to the eye-roll he was sure he was being given.  
'Eric, trust me. Kenny's gonna be there. It's about...' Stan's wavering voice unexpectedly trailed off, annoying Cartman even further  
'So what, you want me to film you ploughing po'boy in the snow or something? I didn't know he was so desperate for cash he was making pornos now'  
Stan's voice, so frail a second ago, sharpened suddenly as he snapped down the phone line 'It's about Kyle, you fat fuck. He's coming back.'  
There was a stagnant pause before Eric simply stated 'I'll be there in 10' and hung up.

00

Stupid faggy ginger Jew fucking everything up. My senior year, what I remember of it anyway, was great the minute his ass was hauled off to that clinic so long ago. What, didn't you know about Jewboy and his pathetic need for 'serious help'? Ha, you must be the only one.  
So why do I care enough to go out in the fucking snow to talk to Kyle-worshippers about what to do now that his scrawny ass is apparently back in town? I don't.  
I'm Eric fucking Cartman, I don't care about him.  
I care about my reputation, which that stupid ushanka-toting, menthol-cigarette-smoking, anorexic son of a literal bitch will shred to pieces the minute his foot touches down in South Park. Fuck this, if the stupid goth-jock and poor shit need me there, I'm gonna need my 'medicine'.  
Why do I need it?  
Because fuck you, that's why.


	4. Ice

**Guys, thank you so much for the favourites, reviews, and follows, you're amazing!**  
**Last introductory chapter, and it's one of my personal favourites, so I hope you like it too. Again, I apologise for the delay in the posting, I've actually had it up on my computer for a while but kept forgetting to actually post it... And much love to StyleLover555 for her continual support (:  
Enjoy,  
Amy xx**

I've never understood people who don't like night time. When you think about it, all the best things happen at night; the stars come out, it's acceptable to wear next to nothing, you can have sex and there's a more definite sense of privacy...  
And that, children, is the line that has helped me gain an intimate knowledge of 80% of the senior class at Park High School. Seriously, it's crazy how a touch of soppiness and a few carefully constructed words can make a guy seem deep, mysterious, and about ten hundred percent more fuckable.

00

'You know, it's a really nice night. Nights like these make me wonder why some people don't like night time, I mean, look at the stars...'

'Kenny, cut the flirty crap, now's not the time and I've already told you I'm not going to fuck you' Stan interrupted, barely glancing at the blonde boy next to him.  
Kenny just sighed, patting down his pockets.  
'You got a cigarette? I think I'm out'  
'Yeah, course. Rolled okay?' Stan asked, reaching for his tin of pre-rolled cigarettes

Kenny sighed again before accepting the roll, lighting it with practised ease.

'Where's the fatass Stan? We've been here half an hour already and I'm freezing to death dude'  
Kenny grinned at the scathing look Stan gave him, having only been half-joking about the effect of the cold, despite it supposedly being the middle of summer. He stood up, stamping his feet as he took a deep drag, walking aimlessly until he saw a dark shadow growing nearer.  
'On your own, fatass? Yo' momma too busy getting spit-roasted again to hold your hand on the way down here?' Kenny hollered jokily, hoping to God that it actually was Cartman and not just a stranger out walking by the half-frozen pond in the middle of the night. It was unlikely, but this was South Park after all. His suspicions were confirmed, however, when a harsh voice ripped out through the darkness,  
'SHUT YOUR FAG MOUTH YOU POOR SACK OF SHIT'  
Kenny almost snickered, but a quick glance at the dark-haired teen sat on a fallen log quickly wiped the mirth off his face. Stan looked terrible – his normally tanned skin seemed unusually pale, and the silver moonlight cast dark shadows on his face, making his face look scarily hollow. It was his eyes though, that were causing Kenny the most discomfort. The usually sky-blue eyes, warm and inviting enough to make any girl or boy fall in love with just a glance, were empty and frozen into chunks of glacier ice, the normally snowy whites stained with ribbons of sleep-deprivation red. Kenny frowned, drawing another breath on his cigarette before turning to face Eric, automatically looking him up and down appraisingly. With a wink at the disgusted look on the other boy's once-fat face he walked to sit next to Stan, going against his nature and awkwardly avoiding touching the distressed noirette at all.  
'Stan, what the fuck?' Cartman began, standing in front of the pathetic-looking duo on the log 'You call me out here and just sit there looking like you watched the goddamn Notebook again'  
Without a single word, Stan stood up and punched Cartman in the face before sitting back down just as silently and pulling out his tin of pre-rolled cigarettes, lighting one moodily.  
'...Stan' Kenny asked tentatively after a few minutes of silence, 'Were you being serious on the phone? About...' he swallowed audibly 'About Kyle?'  
He watched the dark-haired boy visibly flinched at the almost whisper of his best friend's name before sighing. The air was thick with tension as Stan raised his head, his blank eyes meeting Kenny's worried blue and Cartman's suspicious brown, still faintly blue-tinted from when they were kids.  
'I'm super cereal.'  
The use of Gore's saying just emphasised the seriousness of the situation, rather than causing the expected laughs.  
'So what if the Jew comes back? Doesn't bother me, as long as he doesn't try and bone me. Did he come out yet, Stanny boy? Did you visit him in the hospital? Are conjugal visits allowed when they're that fucked up? Or did you just sneak in through the window and fuck him in his slee-'  
It was Kenny that punched him this time, in the stomach, making the still-slightly-larger boy double up in pain, choking out expletives as he collapsed to the grass.  
'Cartman' Kenny hissed 'How fucking dare you. After everything YOU did to put him there'  
Cartman snorted through his gasps of pain, glaring up at the blond leaning over him, a glint shining in his eyes.  
'Everything _I _did? What about you? Making him the only person in school you didn't flirt with so his insecurities got worse? And you, Stan? Eye-fucking him every day, then bragging about Wendy? Giving him all the alcohol he needed to throw up?' Cartman stood up shakily, clutching his stomach as he took in the pink staining both boys cheeks 'I might've given him the fucking phet he wanted, but at least I admit to it!'  
Kenny and Stan merely gaped as he glared, spitting on the ground by their feet before walking back into the darkness leading to his car.

00

I stick to my word, I have far too intimate a knowledge of possibly too high a percentage of the senior at Park High. Wendy's way vanilla when it comes to sexual things, she just does the same boring stuff with a lot of people. Butters is surprisingly aggressive, I guess he works out his anger at his parents on me, since he's normally too shy to assume anyone other than the town slut would ever want him. Bear in mind though, I said 80%. I've never done anything with Bebe, surprising as that may seem considering she's basically got the body of a porn star; never done anything with Stan, even when we're both drunk at the same time. With Kyle... sure, I didn't flirt with him, but I didn't need to. We kissed once, under some mistletoe at a Christmas party Token was having, and I... I swear to God, with that one kiss I swore I'd never pursue him. There was too much emotion, too many feelings, too big an opportunity to change everything, that I couldn't risk it.  
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a 'date' with a certain svelte raven-haired beauty. Probably best I don't mention it to Stan though.


	5. Books

**Well hello there!  
Hope you're liking the story so far and, as promised, there is actually a conceivable plot line in this chapter. This may be the only chapter that didn't take over a week to post, as well, so I'm quite proud of myself for that. I'm gonna leave you to make up your own minds on how this works, but I found it very difficult to write. The idea was there, and there was no writers block, but I don't think it worked as well as it could have...  
Anyway, enjoy and review if you like (:  
-Amy xx**

My stomach hurts. I'm used to there being a pain in my abdomen, but this is different. This pain spreads from my naval to my collarbone. It's a burning pain that feels like I'm lying on a bed of white-hot knives. It's the pain of heartbreak, the kind that stops my lungs from expanding fully, dries out my throat, makes every heartbeat thud so strongly it feels like it could be my last. What would it matter if it was? Who would care? Not my mother. She's over half an hour late. She hasn't called to cry over traffic being late. I'm alone.  
00  
_St Mary's Ward_

Vacant emerald eyes watching a cloud lazily drift across the beautifully blue sky through a window were all that greeted Sheila Broflovski when she arrived in the waiting room, her chest heaving and her face flushed as she spluttered out apologies for the traffic, the car tyre going flat, her phone dying. The owner of the beautiful irises merely looked at her blankly as he stood, picking up his small case, and walked over to the door. She followed, despite him not uttering a word.

'Kyle, honey, let me take that, it looks heavy'  
She watched, her breath catching in her throat, as her oldest son gave her the most soul-searching, heart-broken glance she'd ever received as he placed the case gently on the floor. She was unable to help herself crossing the room, breaking the personal space bubble Kyle had set around himself a couple of years ago, and pulling him into such a tight hug. She could feel all the damage he'd done to himself, and it brought tears to her eyes. He'd grown in their time apart, now standing a few inches taller than herself, and he seemed awkward with his newly long limbs as he wrapped them around her shoulders.  
'Come on bubbe, let's get you home' she managed to say, her words slightly mumbled as she clutched him harder, burying her tear-stained face in his chest.

00

_South Park, Colorado _

The journey home had been silent. Whilst Sheila had been burning with questions for her son, Kyle had been content to just be in such close proximity to a loved one, and spent the time soaking up her presence as he watched the road fly by out of his window, eventually becoming more and more familiar before the car stopped, having pulled into the garage of 1002. It took him a moment, and a lot of throat-clearing and deep breaths before Kyle was able to look over at his mother's familiar face,  
'Can I go up to my room?' he asked quietly  
'Of course you can bubbe' she paused for a few short seconds 'I'll call you down when dinner's ready, okay?'  
He visibly winced but opened the car door and stepped out, seeming shocked at the drop in temperature, before walking to the boot of the car and pulling out his suitcase. It took him a few more minutes but, soon enough, he was back in his old bedroom, sat on his comfy old bed, hugging the pillow that smelled like he used to smell, and holding back tears for an indeterminate amount of time. A quick glance around showed him nothing had changed; his desk was still neatly covered in papers he never got to write on, textbooks he never got to pour over at 3AM revision sessions, pens and pencils he never got to chew in desperation. His closet was still full of clean, ironed clothes, many of them ill-fitting now. His floor was clear of mess, but a fine film of dust had settled on the carpet. The only thing out of place was a single book lying innocently next to his bed. It was anything but innocent though, he knew. It was the last thing he'd looked at before being taken away. It was his journal. Filled with photographs, thoughts, memory triggers and, most terrifying to him, his friend's final words before he'd gone to the clinic. He'd never dared to read them; the thought of knowing what they thought had been too terrifying, and he was too fragile. A single harsh word would've shattered him into thousands of pieces, he would've been beyond repair.  
With a shaking hand he picked up the heavy leather-bound book, feeling its weight as he set it on his lap. Three years of life in one convenient book. His high school experience, here for everyone to see if they so pleased. But no one had been pleased enough to flick through it, perhaps smiling as they caught sight of a picture they'd taken, a memory they remembered fondly.  
No one had any fond memories of his life.  
The weight of the book was crushing him, the sensation trickling down to his hands and making them itch to open it, to revisit his old secrets. He'd half-opened it when his mother's voice screeched from the bottom of the stairs,  
'Kyle! Dinner time bubbe!'  
The volume of her voice, so unlike the soft announcement of the nurses he was used to, was enough to make him drop the book in surprise. Shaking his head slightly, he made for the door, glancing back at the book that had raised a cloud of now-settling dust as it landed on its spine, opening at a page he didn't recognise, covered in sprawling black-inked pen. The only phrase he saw clearly before he flicked off the light made his heart beat up a storm in his chest, made his mind race as he considered the meaning.  
'_.. I'm in love with you.'_


	6. Memories

**Bonjour mes amis! Just a short author's note because well, there's not really anything to say about this story that I've not already said... Except that, since I'm starting college again soon (SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS!) I'll actually be on a schedule again, meaning it'll probably be every Sunday that I post a new chapter.  
Right, I'll leave you to it, and leave a review if you like it/have any constructive criticism/are bored and like leaving opinions  
Enjoy m'lovlies, (and kudos to anyone who spots the subtle Scrubs reference)  
- Amy xx**

One smoke ring. Two smoke rings. Three smoke rings... And I'm coughing. Three in a row is all I've ever been able to manage. Smoking with asthma isn't one of my best ideas, but three rings is pretty impressive, right? One ring each for the three people who made my childhood so amazingly unusual, so horrifically brilliant. The rings get gradually worse as I run out of breath... Kinda like what happened with high school – one ring to symbolise what happened with Kyle every year, and the unreachable fourth one makes me cough, makes my eyes water. Not that I cry, I'm not a goddamn pussy, but... Whatever, I've got a girlfriend to track down.

00

_July, four years ago_

'Dude, do you think I've put on weight?' Stan frowned at Kyle's question, paused his game and looked over his screen at his Super Best Friend.  
Kyle was staring in Stan's mirror, gauging his reaction by his reflection. Stan was silent for a moment, a dumb-founded expression gracing his boyishly rounded features, before he let out a half-cough-half-snort  
'Dude, who cares? You were gonna join track or something next year, right? So loosen up a bit, it's summer, and it's not like you're gonna end up like Cartman just because you're eating bacon sundaes and not telling your mom'  
Kyle frowned, pulling up his shirt to look at his stomach, his hand rubbing the slight outward curve as his frown deepened.  
'Kyle?' Stan asked; worry beginning to trickle into his voice 'Wanna kill Cartman on The Sims again? If you leave loads of plates everywhere, the flies eat him'  
He watched as Kyle's expression turned pensive and he turned away from the mirror, a grin threatening to break on his face,  
'No, let's make him burn again, it's funnier to watch'  
Stan laughed in agreement, putting the laptop down on his bed so Kyle could watch as well.

_February, three years ago_

'I swear to God dude, algebra is going to kill me. What happened to Math being numbers, seriously?'  
'Dude, don't sweat it; you're gonna ace it even when they stop using English letters'  
Kyle groaned at his reply, throwing his locker shut and scowling. Stan just smirked, picking up his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder as Kenny wandered up to the duo, a grin plastered on his face and his body almost quivering  
'Guys, have you heard?' His voice squeaked with barely contained excitement 'Bebe's parents are going to New York for a week, she's throwing a weekend house party and everyone's invited!'  
Stan joined in Kenny's cheering, meeting his high five with a loud slap, before Kenny jogged off again, calling over his shoulder that he was going to find Cartman. Throughout their exchange Kyle had remained quiet, a calculating look shadowing his features as they began walking  
'Ky, didn't you hear that?' Stan asked, still laughing 'You going?'  
'I don't know, I've got loads of homework already'  
'Screw your homework'  
'Dude, that's sick on so many levels'  
'You're the one whose mind's in the gutter, don't blame me that you've got an obvious homework fetish'  
'DUDE!'  
Kyle finally cracked a smile, punching Stan lightly on his shoulder, but his frown didn't fade completely  
'I told Coach I'd start running outside of track, to build up stamina'  
At that Stan pushed his best friend against a random locker, a hand on either side of his head, and leant in far too close, tilting his head and whispering,  
'I can think of another way you could build up stamina'  
His warm breath tickled Kyle's ear, causing a blush to erupt on the slightly shorter boy's face. The red head's blush deepened as he felt his Super Best Friend's tongue against his neck. He was about to protest, about to push him away, about to do _something_, when Stan pulled away sharply with a smirk.  
'You're going dude. Forget schoolwork, you're like the smartest kid in our year and you can ace any subject with your eyes and ears glued shut. As for track... I've seen you run, anyone who says you need to work on it obviously actually has their eyes glued shut.'  
Kyle sighed at the reasoning, turning to face Stan properly for the first time. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he decided to copy the noirette's idea and leant in too close, invading his best friend's personal space and letting his breath wash over his face gently.  
'Fine' he murmured, winking saucily as he sauntered off, calling over his shoulder 'and you totally lose at gay chicken, dude'  
00

See this bottle? Ten minutes ago it was full then I closed my eyes and it was empty when I opened them again. Magic! No, I'm not that gone yet, I know I drank it. And I think it was ten minutes ago, but I'm not too sure on anything right now.  
No, that's a lie.  
I'm sure I'm single again. Why? Because Wendy actually admitted to screwing other people. Okay, she didn't say screwing, but I knew what she meant. Maybe Cartman was right all those years ago, maybe she IS a dirty whore. What am I talking about, there's no maybe about it.

Things were easier with Kyle. Kyle wasn't a whore. Kyle didn't sleep around. Kyle smelt like apples and his hair shone like copper in the sun. His eyes were too big for his face and the last time I saw him they were bruised from lack of sleep. He was too pale. Too bony. If I hugged him, it felt like he'd break. Fuck, he was perfect to me though.  
No.  
Kyle wasn't perfect, not in that sense. No, Wendy must've been, that's why we keep dancing with this relationship thing. Crap, I've not been properly buzzed in too long. Time to raid under Randy's bed again.


	7. Bones

**Actually managed to meet my deadline and upload on a Sunday! Not that I'm all that proud of it because I never seem to be happy with Cartman chapters, mainly because it involves a lot of swearing at you guys, which is never fun. But if at the end of this story (if it ever ends), I can say I only dislike a quarter of it, I'll be happy.  
Thank you to the brilliant Ilse for your constant support, and to old and any new readers, I've got one word for you:  
Enjoy!**

**- Amy xx**

Why do bad things always happen to good people? What, you think I'm not a good person? Fuck you. It figures though, that being the only person in this Goddamn redneck town trying to avoid seeing the plague driven in sometime earlier today, I'd be the one to see him first. I swear, God has a sick sense of humour.

00

The lack of snow was proving to be annoying, the unexpected heat proving the trigger point of many of the biggest arguments of the year, because no one could deal with the sudden need for less clothing. Annoyed that he wasn't proving to be his usual exception to the rule, Eric had taken to Starks Pond to avoid seeing anyone, seeing any of the scantily-clad sluts that had descended on South Park, the desperate eyes that seemed to be everywhere, seeking out the elusive Kyle who had been brought home just hours earlier. Cartman was lying stretched out on a blanket by the shore, soaking up the sun with a smug smile at the rare solitude. The solitude, the silence, the almost serenity of the place, was more than he could have hoped for. It was this frozen moment, however, that brought back the memory of Ze Mole's stupid British accent declaring the bitchiness of God.  
'Cartman?' A single word was enough to break the peace. A single word, spoken in a pathetically small, quiet voice.  
Cristophe was right, God was a bitch.  
Eric's eyes snapped open, wincing slightly at the sudden invasion of light before sitting up sharply. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, for his surroundings to become more than green-black blurs, and a groan escaped his lips the minute he could see clearly. It was Kyle. Not that it had come to much of a surprise – no one else in the entire state could sound that feeble without having been beaten up at least once a week.  
'Kyle, the fuck are you doing here? Why aren't you at home getting ploughed by your boyfriend?'  
The redhead looked instantly wounded and Cartman sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, he almost missed the Jew acting like, well, a Jew. There was no passionate rebuttal, no argument, no anger whatsoever flaring in his eyes.  
'Kyle? I'm seriously dude, fuck off'

Again, Cartman sighed at the pale boy's lack of response. With distaste making the blue in his eyes more prominent, he surveyed the pitiful scene in front of him. Kyle was way too fucking pale, with his hollow cheeks making his eyes look huge in his face, like a bugs. What he'd done to himself had destroyed everything remotely interesting about him – his blood red hair had lost its bounce, the curls had gone and been replaced by an electrified frizz. Having always been short and squat, a by-product of the genes he'd had no say in, the lack of nutrition had frozen his body in time. So a 15 year old was looking sadly back at him, potential muscles wasted away and replaced by razor thin bones, whilst the only hair gracing his body or face was lanugo.  
'Kyyylleeee, go away!'  
'Cartman, just be quiet.' His voice was even smaller than it had been when he arrived  
Eric's eyes watched as Kyle crossed the clearing to sit at the shoreline of the pond. It was warm enough to paddle, to dangle his feet, but Kyle seemed content to just watch the little waves drifting lazily across the crystal surface. His peaceful body expression was annoying Eric, whose temper had already been pushed to the limit just from the heat. So it was with no remorse and no regret that he walked briskly to where Kyle was lounging and pushed hard on his back, the delicate, wing-like feeling of his prominent shoulder blades creating a sharp contrast with the graceless crash of the water as Kyle submerged.  
'CARTMAN!' unlike Kyle's stupidly gentle voice earlier, Stan's horrifically deep voice ripped through the trees, scaring the nearby birds and nearly making Eric jump away from the shore 'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?'

00

Too many people in this town are constantly on their period. I mean it, there was no need to goth-jock-fag to rat me out to bitch-Broflovski, was there? What? Yeah, I know they've got names but fuck off, my names fit them better. No need for Ike bitch-butch-Broflovski to threaten to rat my organisation out to the fucking FBI! If I want to sell whatever I happen to 'find', that's no business of his or anyone else. Fuck, Ike sucks up to po'shit and goth-jock-fag enough that I know he wouldn't follow through with this stupid plan, they need me and my connections too much. Fuck that reminds me, g-j-f just NEEDS some of the wickedly strong drinks from Europe. Better to be needed for something stupid then trapped in some Taiwanese prison for dealing in some shit or another. Now fuck off, I've got a call waiting.


	8. Hair

**I've discovered that whilst I dislike most of my Cartman chapters, the Kenny ones are by far my favourites. And I have to apologise for this, it was an idea that just sprung up; literally, when I write I just start and let it lead me where it wants to go so... I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it happened and there's nothing I can do about it. Also, it was screaming at me to be posted, so I've already broken my Sunday rule!  
****Now, enough babbling. Please leave reviews though guys, this story's views increase every day, but I only ever get one per chapter :(  
****Loneliness aside, enjoy!**

**- Amy xx**

I'm a slut. I know this and hell, I'm messed up enough to say I'm nearly proud of it. I don't do the whole relationship thing. I get my kicks from the sex, the raw, animalistic, lust-driven-eyes-rolling-back-breathy-screams-of-bliss sex, not the cuddling. Not the bits between the times spent between the sheets. Sex is sex. It's that simple. Sex is natural and fun and Goddamn it all when people get needy and try and mix emotions in with what they're suddenly feeling. I mean, fuck, if I had to choose the one person I wouldn't mind developing feelings for and getting all sappy and can-I-cry-on-your-shoulder, it definitely wouldn't be Wendy. But I guess there's little to be done anymore.  
00  
_August, five years ago_

Kenny's stomach was hurting, a result of lying on his front on the thin carpet in the Marsh's living room, but he refused to move. Not that there was anywhere else in the room he could go – Stan and Kyle, despite both being late bloomers when it came to growing, had taken it upon themselves to drape their short frames over every inch of space on the sofa. Cartman, getting annoyed that there was nowhere comfortable to sit, had waddled up the stairs to Stan's room, grabbed his mattress and pillows, dragged them both back down with him, made a fort and proceeded to devour every snack his mother had packed into his mammoth sized backpack, making sure to liberally sprinkle crumbs and sugar over Stan's bedding as punishment. Kenny had remained on the floor for his own safety, following Cartman's warning that "he wouldn't live to read another word of his faggy magazine if any food went missing, or he infected him with his broke-ass germs'.  
'Guys, we should totally all get buzz cuts for seventh grade' Kenny said, not looking up from his magazine  
'The hell dude? Why?' Stan asked, kicking Kyle gently to shake him from his daydream  
'Just look how badass everyone in here looks with one' he lifted the page he'd been reading, revealing several ripped, tattooed men who did indeed all have shaven heads.  
'We couldn't dude' Kyle's head was hanging off the edge of the sofa, meaning he was seeing the picture upside down. Gravity had forced his trademark ushanka off his head and his famously fiery curls danced gracefully towards the floor 'If we all had the same haircut we'd look like fags, and Cartman's too fat for it anyway'  
'Shut your Goddamn Jew mouth Kahl, I'm not fat!' Cartman protested, angrily crushing a handful of pretzels and dropping them onto Stan's pillow.  
'Whatever, lardtits, I'm just saying that if you shaved your head it'd look stupid. You're really fat and really white, if you didn't have hair you'd look like a Goddamn baseball or something'  
Stan snorted, awkwardly high-fiving his best friend without either of them looking where they were aiming. Sitting up with a groan, he turned to face Kenny  
'Guys we're talking about hair, this is really, really gay. Can we like, go play basketball or somethi- CARTMAN! What have you done to my bed? I swear to God...'  
Kenny smiled, used to the bickering, and turned onto his side before flipping the page. At least his stomach didn't hurt so much anymore.

_September, one year ago  
_Kenny leant against some random person's locker, the coldness of metal going unregistered as it seeped through his thin t-shirt. He, like everyone else in the hallway, was frozen. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the same point: Stan Marsh, the popular, handsome, intelligent quarterback, holding someone in his tanned arms with more care than a first-time mother holding her premature baby. Stan's easygoing ever-present grin was missing, and his famous sky-blue eyes were bloodshot and tear stricken. It was a movement to his left that distracted the blond, followed by a tugging on the hem of his shirt. He followed the pressure blindly, his eyes stuck to the heartbreaking scene until his view was obscured by the closing of the bathroom door. He turned to face whoever had pulled him away, noticing for the first time he was in a girl's bathroom, and could only blink at the sight in front of him. Wendy, looking as professionally pretty as ever in her black ballet flats, just-above-the-knee black skirt and just-a-touch-too-tight white blouse, had a face that could have floored a lesser man  
'Why's it always him, Kenny?' she hissed 'Why does Saint Kyle come before everyone and everyything else?'  
Kenny's aquamarine eyes sought her violet ones, and he saw the pain in them, poorly masked behind the anger. It took nine heartbeats for him to lock the door and cross to stand in front of her, one hand gently grasping under her chin, tilting her pretty face up to meet his, whilst the other settled itself to rest under the warm weight of her black hair, long fingers twisting into silky strands. He tilted her chin further, covering her cherry gloss covered lips with his own and offering her the comfort she clearly so desperately craved. From there, experience took over. His hands moved to the small of her back, clutching their hips together as he began to grind, began to mould his body to hers, instinctively knowing where he would need to touch, need to tease, need to lavish attention on, in order to "help" her the most. Under the flickering light of a grimy, pink-tiled high school bathroom, with a forgotten disaster churning on just outside and a condom he thankfully remembered he had in his jeans pocket, Kenny McCormick took the virginity of his best friend's girlfriend. He'd said a total of twelve words to her by the time she staggered back to class 38 minutes later.  
00

When one disaster burns out, another seems to flare up straight away. I don't know if that's true all over the world, or just in this backwater place me and my friends call home. For months, the big drama was what was happening to Kyle. Then Eric getting caught smuggling things across the border –it's a sad day when the local law enforcement are bribed into silence by a years supply of free narcotics – and yet gets off scot free. Then Stan starts puking at every party he gets invited to because he's already wasted by 5 in the afternoon most days. Then Kyle came back and hides himself away in his house because he can't face the real world right now. And now... Now, I've fucked up. I rarely fuck up, as well. If something goes wrong, I've found dying makes people forget the last ten minutes before I died as well, which is pretty useful actually.  
But this?  
Ten minutes won't be enough.  
Ten minutes might be enough time for Stan to literally beat me to death when he finds out what I've done, before he forgets what I've told him.  
Ten minutes will definitely be enough time for Mr. Testaburger to fetch whatever gun he has and shoot me right through the brain, before he can't remember the reason he's got a dead 18 year old on his nicely trimmed lawn.  
Ten minutes isn't enough to erase the mistakes.  
Ten forgotten minutes isn't enough to make the foetus growing inside Wendy Testaburger cease to exist.  
I screwed up, big time.


	9. Flash

**I'm so sorry this is late! I've been ill and I'm not at my most creative when I feel like I'm dying... But here it is! Fresh off the word document and ready for your reading pleasure. As a side note, this story's just hit 1200 views, so thank you!  
Enjoy!  
-Amy xx  
**  
I used to run track, but I hated it. The sheer effort of forcing my body around a set route, the sweat making my limbs even heavier, lungs burning, eyes stinging, regret filling my head as I thought about my last cigarette... But I kept at it, forced myself to run miles every day. Then I rediscovered swimming, and it was perfect. The feeling of weightlessness as I drifted through the water, just floating, barely moving, my legs kicking lazily. I'd get worried looks from friends and strangers alike as they saw me in ever-loosening trunks, but the warm water would let their judgement just... wash away.  
00  
The underwater world was one Kyle was familiar with, but he'd never swam in Starks Pond; it was always far too cold. Everything was simultaneously blurred and sharp and impossibly long creepers waved at him, rooted in the murky depths, whilst the refracted light made the cloudy brown water shimmer almost ethereally. He was falling, his arms and legs refusing to cooperate with his brain, refusing to let him surface. A stream of silver bubbles left his mouth as he sighed, feeling exhaustion starting to overcome him as his eyes flickered shut and the emerald tendrils snaked around his abdomen, feeling for all the world like a pair of warm arms.  
_September, one year ago  
_'What's with the hat, dude? I thought you were getting rid of it this year?' Stan asked, smacking one of the earflaps playfully  
Kyle grinned, shaking his head to brush his hand away  
'It felt too cold this morning, and you know what my mom's like'  
The best friends shared a understanding look. Kyle's overprotective mother was still the butt of everyone's jokes as, at 18, he was the only senior who still had a curfew, still had to let his mother know if he was going to be late.  
'Wanna go outside? I got some more menthols this morning'  
Nod barely perceptible, Stan followed Kyle through the double doors and accepted the cigarette, sparking up and leaning against the building wall.  
'What's happening with you then dude, feels like we haven't spoke in ages?' Kyle asked  
'That's cause we haven't' Stan frowned 'Every time I try and talk to you, you've got to run off and study, or you've got a track meet, or swimming, and all holiday you were working... Dude, I get that you're busy, but you should chill a bit. You're gonna burn yourself out'  
Kyle's face flushed. Whilst it was true that he hadn't seen as much of Stan, or anyone for that matter, as he would've liked to, he hadn't thought they'd noticed  
'I know man, and I'm sorry...' his words trailed off as blood randomly started pumping behind his eyes. His fingers clutching the burning tobacco started to shake and his vision went splotchy. Shaking his head furiously made him go dizzy, and when his sight finally cleared, Stan had paled and looked worried.  
'Sorry about that dude, think I forgot to take my insulin' he chuckled nervously.  
'Right... Haven't you still got the spare stuff in your locker?' Stan asked, stubbing his cigarette and grinding the butt under his foot.  
Kyle nodded, copied Stan's actions, and headed back through the entrance, making a beeline for his locker. Only, he was strangely out of breath. The pounding in his ears was back, and his fingers were icy, trembling, and thrumming with pins and needles. He opened his mouth to ask Stan something, anything, just to distract himself from the turmoil in his head, but Stan wasn't there. He'd stopped in the doorway, talking and laughing with Wendy. Stupid Wendy with her stick thinness and her pretty face and her...  
He blacked out.  
When he woke he was on the floor with his head in Stan's lap, as what seemed like every Park High student stared at him.  
Flash of a seriously pissed off Wendy dragging an unwilling Kenny through a blurred door.  
Flash of sapphire hovering above him, leaking warmth onto his cold face.  
Flash of heat covering his torso as Stan's arms wrapped around him, pulling him up...  
_Present day  
_With a gasp, he was dragged above the surface by a pair of strong, tanned arms. Arms he hadn't seen in almost a year. He was laid onto his back, and fingers squeezed his nose shut as a pair of lips covered his own. He'd been underwater for barely a minute, and he was a strong swimmer, making the action redundant. With a quick realisation of what was happening, Kyle mentally crossed his fingers that whoever was performing mouth-to-mouth was too distracted to notice the blush gracing his otherwise pale face. Because a crack in his eyelids revealed his 'saviour' to be Stan. And he, Kyle, should not be enjoying the feeling of his once-a-Super-Best-Friend's mouth on his.  
'Kyle?' Stan's gently rough, deep voice broke through the fog in his mind as he removed his lips  
Kyle responded by opening his eyes, emeralds raking over Stan's angular, tanned face, his blue-black hair plastered to his head with water, and, much to Kyle's surprise, the nervous smile gracing his lips. Without warning, the arms that had pulled him from the pond wrapped around his chest and he was pulled to his feet, still enveloped in the hug, feeling safer, warmer, and more cared for than he had in years.  
'I missed you so much dude' Stan's voice cracked as he hugged him tighter, and Kyle felt hot tears burn in his eyes.


	10. Hero

**Thank everyone who read and/or reviewed! And as the last chapter was late I thought this one should be early, so here you are. Quite an angsty chapter, actually, but I'm hoping it'll answer some questions. Not going to give too much away though! Any reviews for this one are insanely appreciated (I'm begging now, yes I realise this)  
Anyway, enjoy!**  
**Amy xx**

In a place as screwed up as South Park, it's really easy for someone to be a hero. Seriously, there are so many opportunities to save the town and everyone in it from complete and utter destruction, even I've done it. I've saved everyone from smug storms, zombies, floods, and a weird time a few years back when the town got overrun with cannibalistic midget celebrity clones (long story). Things have been quiet recently though, there's been less need for a hero. Freak illnesses strike every now and then. Tweek got possessed a while back and has since become unbearably close to Craig, who risked his life for him, but personal heroes like Craig aren't uncommon. Then there's me, near enough the definition of an anti-hero, with no one to save me from the thing that's threatened to rip my family apart so many times: alcoholism. Yeah, I admit to it. I'm not like Cartman; I don't get defensive when people bring it up. It's just a part of me. Judge away.  
00

Stan felt better than he had in a while, and the reason was simple: he was looking into the forgotten face of his best friend, and the memories were flooding his brain. His eyes were green, vibrant glittering gems in his pale face, not some washed-out pansy colour. His hair wasn't black, but a seemingly-impossible-to-forget scarlet, the dry, knotted strands ruffling in the gentle breeze  
'Dude.' He whispered 'Just... dude'  
He was hugging too tight, if the tears in Kyle's eyes were anything to go on, but he couldn't help himself. The sheer realness of having him in his arms was better than he could have imagined, better than the dreams he'd kept safely locked in his head could have prepared him for. Because his dreams had been built on experience, built on the past, back when Kyle was an inch from death's door and willingly covering the distance...  
'Stan! Quit raping him, I want in' Kenny's voice shattered the perfect moment, and the pair broke apart, an awkward chuckle escaping Stan's lips.

He couldn't help watching as the pair embraced, couldn't help but notice how Kyle's eyes didn't glitter as much when he looked at the blond, even when he smiled at something he'd said, how Kenny wasn't the right height for them to hug comfortably, how his arms wound too low. Stan noticed everything, and felt unexpectedly pleased.

'Jew, will you fuck off with the fagginess? And just fuck off back under your rock or something? You're dripping fucking water everywhere'  
Cartman's favourite talent of breaking up heart-warming moments had never made Stan want to laugh before. And it was true that Kyle was (possibly) unintentionally dripping the filthy pond water all over the blanket Cartman had been sunbathing on and, despite the warm weather, was unable to stop this trickling as he was shivering. Badly.

'Kyle, do-you-want-to-come-over-to-mine-no-one's-in' The words were out of Stan's mouth before he could help himself, but it was too late to take them back and the gleam in Kenny's eye told him he knew that the words had slipped out.  
'Yeah Kyle, you should go and _catch-up _with Stan, me and Cartman have got to... do... that... thing... Right, Cartman?'  
Cartman's eyes narrowed.  
'I'm not going anywhere with your poor ass, I've got calls to make and shit'  
Kenny and Stan shared a sigh, one of annoyance and one of relief, whilst Kyle looked bemused, still shivering in the light wind.  
'But Cartman' Kenny spat out through gritted teeth 'You've got that date with Lexus today, remember?'  
'Aw sweet! I thought you said she wouldn't date me if I was the last guy in South Park?'  
'Cartman. Stop. It. And. Go. Get. Ready. For. Your. Date.'  
It seemed like everyone's breath was bated as they watched the clear argument in Eric's head; going would mean he'd get to fuck Lexus, but Stan would be happy. Staying would make Stan, and possibly Kyle, miserable, but he'd be alone for the night.  
'Fine, call your ho and tell her to meet me at Shakey's' he muttered, gathering up his things and walking away.  
Stan turned to face Kyle once more 'Shall we go then?'  
Kyle smiled.

00

'Your room's tidy' was the first thing Kyle had said when they arrived  
'Yeah, um, my mom made me tidy it when she heard you were coming back. Y'know, in case you wanted to come 'round or something...' Stan trailed off, running a hand through his hair.  
'It looks good.'  
'Thanks.'  
The atmosphere was suffocating. This wasn't how Stan had pictured their reunion to be; he'd imagined Kyle back to being Kyle, with the sense of humour and the wild ideas, the opinions and the fiery temper. He'd imagined hugs and junk food and playing video games until 3 in the morning whilst Kyle told him funny stories from his time away. Instead, they were on opposite sides of the room, Stan stood in the doorframe with Kyle sat on his bed, playing with his sleeves and looking everywhere but where Stan stood.  
'Stan... I think I ought to go home, I told my mom I wouldn't be long' Kyle said, breaking the 5-minute silence.  
Stan just watched as Kyle stood up. Watched as Kyle seemed to sway on the spot. Watched as Kyle fell to the floor. His sapphire eyes widened at the memory, the similarities between the moment he was in now, and the moment all those months ago.  
Except Kyle wasn't just lying still this time and his face had filled, rather than drained, with colour but as he started to stand back up, the set of his mouth made Stan think that just maybe, the redhead was angry, rather than embarrassed.  
'Stan.' There was more fury in that one word than in everything Kyle had said that year combined 'There are bottles under your bed.'  
It was Stan's turn to flush.  
'I thought you'd stopped.' Kyle's words were clipped and harsh to his ears 'What happened?'  
The emotions that he'd hidden for months intensified as he looked at the unfamiliar fire dancing in Kyle's eyes, all the fear, anger, misery and self-hatred burst forth in two words;  
'You left!'  
The silence was deafening as Kyle lowered himself back onto Stan's bed, but Stan wasn't searching for ways to fill it any more, his words were buzzing in his mind, just waiting to explode out  
'You left, Kyle. I know you needed to. Fuck, I know that if you HADN'T gone, you'd probably be dead. But shit dude, what was I supposed to do? My best friend – my fucking super best friend – was a skeleton, Kenny was fucking anything within a 20 mile radius, and Cartman was... Well, I don't really give a crap about Cartman, but he was giving you the stuff! You were taking those pills like they were candy, and you didn't care anymore! I had Ike calling me nearly every night because he didn't know where the fuck you were and your mom was starting to get suspicious. But who cared? Not you! You left me Kyle. Look at my dad, look at the influence I've had! Did you really expect me to just ignore the numbness that comes free at the end of every bottle, every can, every shot?'  
Stan was pacing now, his breath escaping in huffs as he got more and more worked up  
'Stan, I'm sorry, I didn't realis-'  
'Of course you didn't realise! No one did! Not you, not my family, not even fucking Wendy! I was holding you three up, and no one thought to ask if I could use a hand. No one ever expects the quarterback with the perfect girlfriend and the fucking ideal life to need help. Guess what though Kyle?! Wendy fucked everyone on the team in "retaliation of what I did". My mom wants to leave again. And still I managed to keep my grades up, keep smiling, keeping winning every single game we played. So go home if you want to. Go, because I can't do this anymore.'  
Kyle's eyes were swimming with tears that doused the fire within them as he crossed the room. Stan had saved him from drowning, and it was his turn to do the same thing. Wrapping his short, thin arms around Stan's shoulders, he hugged him tightly, letting all the emotions he possessed seep into his broad chest.  
'It'll be okay Stan. It'll be okay, you don't have to be the hero anymore'  
Stan broke down even harder at that.

00

There's a photo in my yearbook of a party someone hosted for some reason. I think it was Clyde, I think it was because we beat Middle Park for the third time in a row. That'd explain why it's in the yearbook anyway. I'm in this picture, somewhere in the background, hiding behind a bottle of Jack whilst Wendy screams at me. You know how with some pictures, you look back at them and can't for the life of you remember what was happening? This isn't one of those pictures.  
Wendy wasn't screaming at me because I was drunk. She wasn't screaming at me because I'd had her study-buddy sent away. She wasn't screaming at me for saving Kyle's life. She was screaming at me for 5 seconds that I should never have told her about: Kyle's final visit to my room. When, high on hunger and whatever Cartman had slipped him, he kissed me. And I didn't push him away.  
It's a stupid photo though, and no-one else will remember the symbolism of her anger in five years. I think.


	11. Coffee

**I have readers!? More incredible, I have reviewers?! Have I said I love everyone who reviews before? If not, you should know that I do; I do a little dance every time I get one. So, to say a massive thank you, I thought I'd update early! And this chapter has a twist! It's not Cartman (it'll be his turn to yell at everyone next time, don't worry) but it's not a usual character - it's a Wendy chapter! Mainly because I feel like I need to show that she's not just some background character, especially not now that she's so majorly entwined with Kenny. Anyway, I'll stop my rambling now.  
Enjoy,**  
**- Amy xx**

When I was younger, I had a lot of dreams and no real problems. Now I've grown up, and I've got a lot of problems and no realistic dreams. It used to be that people would look at me proudly, at this pretty, smart, down-to-Earth girl who was unlucky enough to be born into a backwater town, but lucky enough to have the passion and drive to get away from it. Now though... Well, I don't know. I'll probably end up like Cartman's mom, with a bratty kid and no help supporting it. I miss being young and innocent, with my parents tucking me into bed rather than some nameless, faceless boy that I couldn't care less about.  
00  
Bebe's face was priceless; caramel eyes wide, creamy complexion faded to snow-white, pretty pink lips fallen open into a perfect cupids bow.  
'You're...' her voice faded out; there was no need for her to finish her thought.  
Wendy nodded, the glossy curtain of her midnight hair covering her face, her red-rimmed eyes, from the prying eyes of everyone else sat in Tweak Bros. They'd been sat at the same table, next to the fogged-up window, for two hours. Their conversation had started as it always did, with cheery gossip and casual judging of the other patrons, but Wendy hadn't been able to stop herself from reacting to Bebe's scathing remark about if Porsche was pregnant, or just fat.  
'But how?' her best friend's voice was quiet, for possibly the first time in her life 'I mean, how do you know? Actually, just how? I thought you and Stan always used protection?'  
Hearing her ex-boyfriend's name used so casually stung her heart and made her stomach cringe. Whilst Bebe was her best friend, and they normally discussed everything under the sun, she hadn't found the right opportunity to tell her about their break up. No-one, save herself and Stan, knew what had happened between them. Now seemed a good a time as any for the announcement, though  
'It's... It's not Stan's' she barely whispered  
If Bebe had looked shocked before, her expression now was enough to gain interested glances from the couple sitting at the table next to theirs. Terror, curiosity, and a tinge of pity all mingled on her face, and Wendy felt the need to explain herself  
'It's Kenny's' though her voice was still quiet, it managed to catch in her throat.  
'But honey, how did this happen?'  
Wendy took the opportunity to look at her best friend, really look at her. Her pretty heart-shaped face was crinkled with worry, framed with golden ringets that fell gracefully to the middle of her back when they weren't twisted into the plaits she wore for ballet. The sweetness of her face contrasted with her –to quote Kenny - porn-star body; years of dance and gymnastics had given her lean, strong arms and legs and a tiny, toned stomach, whilst her good genes had given her a generous chest. Their personalities were similar; they both laughed at the same things, spent time with the same people, went to the same parties, shared interests and fangirled over the same celebrities.  
She and Wendy were polar opposites in one sense though: Bebe was a virgin, and proud of this fact. Wendy had broken her own heart by stabbing the boy she'd thought she loved in his, and slept with many of his friends.  
'Me and Stan' she paused, shook her head, then corrected her grammar, a habit formed by her parents normally doing it 'Stan and I aren't together anymore. He doesn't know, I've only told you and Kenny'  
She sighed, knowing the truth would've had to come out eventually, but hated knowing she'd been backed into a corner before she was ready  
'Bebe, I've slept with more than just Stan and Kenny. I hate myself for it, believe me, and I'm not going to watch your opinion of me drop by listing every name but... I need help. I'm barely eighteen! I'm still living at home and being secretary at the rhinoplasty doesn't pay well enough for me to support myself, let alone a baby! Do I keep it? And what about Kenny? God only knows what he wants to do, and I can't talk to my parents about this, but I'll start to show soon because if I'm right on dates then I'm already two months gone!' Wendy was dangerously close to tears again and, before Bebe could answer any of her questions, she excused herself and left for the bathroom to get more tissues.  
Bebe was speechless as she aimlessly stirred a spoon around the dregs of her mocha, her mind whirring a million miles a second, when the bell over the door jingled merrily. Raising her head slowly she looked at who had entered, tears prickling in the backs of her eyes as she saw it was Stan and, amazingly, Kyle. She was good friends with Stan, or had been at least, and she choked slightly when the noirette caught her eye and moved to walk closer, before seeing the cup left where Wendy had been and freezing in place. Her sugar-brown eyes took in the sight of him leading an exhausted-looking Kyle to a booth on the opposite side of the shop floor, leaving him there to order before returning with two gently steaming coffees in mismatched mugs, the Tweak Bros trademark. Wendy still hadn't returned, and Bebe wanted nothing more than to bury her face in her arms and cry. Cry for her best friend making all the wrong decisions, cry for the pain Stan must be going through, cry for the uncertainty in her own mind. But she was seen to be too strong to be allowed to cry in public. So she ordered another coffee, letting the familiar aroma envelop her, and started to plan.  
00  
I'm pathetic. I'm crying in a public restroom, too proud to allow my perfect ex-boyfriend see me broken up, especially when he doesn't know the reason why. I'm too ashamed to see him with... Kyle. God, I can barely say his name without hissing. Yes I'm happy he's back, glad he got the help he needed, relieved he's not dead, but I couldn't help the jealousy that coursed through my veins whenever anyone mentioned him when he was gone. Stan used to talk about him nonstop, never asking me about my day because he was too busy moping about a freaking leaf that had reminded him of Kyle's eyes. The mentioning became rarer as time passed, as Stan discovered that alcohol wiped his memory, numbed him against the pain of losing his best friend. But it numbed him against me as well, and he didn't even realise. I'm not a bad person, I just needed the attention, the adoration, that I deserve. He was retreating into a dark place, and others were offering me what I craved. I'm not proud, but I've never claimed to be a saint. I'm just a person, something people seem to constantly forget.


	12. Sleep

**Oh my dear sweet Jesus, I'm so sorry for how long it's been! College has been hectic and I'm just learning how to juggle the whole education-work-social life-internet thing. So many apologies, but here's the long-awaited next chapter, and it's long!**  
**Should probably point out: I don't suggest following any of the paths the boys are on. Eating disorders, alcohol, drugs, and too much sex will mess you up physically and mentally, so yeah. Take care, be nice to yourself, all that. Without further ado,**  
**Enjoy!**  
**-Amy xx**

It's a pussy thing to say, but I hate being alone at night. Maybe it's something to do with my mom being away with 'clients' most at night since I was twelve, but I've never been able to stand it. Yeah, Kenny ripped the shit out of me when he found out, but I swear to God if you try it I'll burn your fucking houses down. It's not like it's as easy for me to find someone willing to share my bed. Who wants to sleep with an ex-obese fucking drug addict who's in love with the one person he can't have? Yeah, you read that right. Yeah, Eric Cartman is capable of emotions. That a big enough kick in the crotch for you?  
00  
For Eric, it started with marijuana.  
_August, three years ago  
_'Dude, what's that smell?' Eric's nose crinkled as a strangely sweet smell wafted in his direction as Kenny shifted on the couch.  
'It's not mine, it's Kevin's. Barbrady sent him a search warrant, he's coming today. Got him down on a suspected dealing charge.' Kenny paused, before laughing 'Dude, what's with the face? It's just weed'  
'Screw you Kenny'  
The pair were silent for a few long moments, both aimlessly watching the Terrence and Phillip rerun playing. It wasn't long before Eric was beginning to fidget; pulling at his sleeves, picking at a hangnail, scratching at his hairline in obvious agitation  
'Kenny? Can we try some?'  
A blond eyebrow quirked as he faced his larger friend, a deliberating look gracing his face  
'Sure, why not?'  
Half an hour later, though it felt so much longer, and the pair had been reduced to a giggling mess, or Kenny had at least. Eric was lounging on the couch watching the setting summer sun sweep a wave of fiery orange down the wall, wearing a contentedly dazed smile.  
'Go get me some food?' Cartman's mouth had formed the words before he even registered he'd started speaking  
'Get it yourself' Kenny's voice was unexpectedly loud, and he sent himself into another fit of giggles as he heard himself  
'Can't, the kitchen's so far away'  
'Dude, you're closer'  
'It's my house'  
'Can't, I'm rushing'  
'I can't get up either, the world's moving'  
'The world's always moving, retard'  
'Shut up Kenny'  
They fell silent again. Cigarettes were smoked, the falling ash looking strangely beautiful in Eric's eyes. Kenny left, singing to himself, stumbling slightly. The clocked ticked time away. Cartman found the baggie Kenny must have dropped during one of his laugh attacks, and it wasn't long before it was empty. The clock continued to tick before chiming midnight, the chimes loud in the silent house – his mother wasn't back yet, she was 'working' tonight. He sighed and headed up to his room, all but falling into bed. The gentle nausea had done the impossible and killed his appetite, and the aftermath had left him feeling so exhausted that he slept more soundly than he had in months.  
00  
_September, one year ago  
_Cartman stared at his reflection; his reflection stared back. He had changed so much in the last few years, it almost took his breath away when he took the time to notice it. His face had thinned, his jawline becoming more defined, but his eyes had stayed the same. Narrow and a strange blue-brown mix, they could warm to melted chocolate or freeze to rusted iron in a heartbeat. Looking at the bigger picture in the framed glass, he could see the figure curled pathetically into itself, hunched up on his bed, taking up next to no space.  
'So Kahl' Eric drawled 'what do you want? You haven't been to my house in almost two years, why the sudden change of heart? Stan not man enough for you because, as I've said before, I don't swing that way'  
The barest hint of a smile lifted the pale corners of Kyle's lips as he wound his arms around his knees even tighter – it looked almost painful now.  
'Please, you already know...'  
There was no trace of pity on Eric's face.  
'I'm not gonna give it you. I've had too many bricks through my window for it already. Remind me to thank your boyfriend'  
Kyle's dull eyes creased at the corners as he finally released his legs, letting them splay out in front of him. To Eric, he reminded him of a doll. Not even a male doll, but a Barbie. Except bonier.  
'I can help you' Kyle's mouth barely moved 'With her. I know you like her. I can help you... I can distract him, let you have your chance'  
The eyes were back to rust.  
'You've got no idea what you're talking abou-'  
'I see how you look at her. It's how I look at... y'know. Give me the stuff, I swear I can help. They've been rocky for ages, one push and they'll be over again. Just please'  
Eric pushed back from the mirror with a sigh, crossing his floor until he reached the drawer that held his most precious possessions. After careful consideration, he pulled out two small pills, one blush pink and the other sky blue.  
'Don't take these within 3 hours of each other, I mean it. I'm not hauling your skinny ass to the hospital just because you're borderline retarded'  
The relief on Kyle's face was disgustingly familiar as he snatched up the tablets, suddenly filled with energy.  
'Thank you, so much. I'll talk to Stan, badmouth Wendy a little. Give it a week and she'll be yours, fatass'  
'EY! I'M NOT FAT!'  
Kyle's smile took the sting out of the long-standing joke though, and he waved over his shoulder as he left the room.  
00  
So I like Wendy. What straight guy in this shitty little town doesn't? She's got a smoking body, she's feisty, head cheerleader, and I guess she's smart and okay to talk to and stuff. The thing that gets me most about her though? When I was like 12 or something, my mom was at her house for Valentine's day "just visiting", and so she stayed the night. She's a strong girl and shit, but at two in the morning I found her crying in the guest room because she knew why she was there. She asked me to sleep with her, in the most innocent sense of the word, and I did. I slept so fucking soundly, with my arm awkward around her waist and her lavender-scented hair tickling my hair. We fit together then, and we still do now. Whatever though, she's still a slut. And I still sleep alone nearly every night.


	13. Assignment

**Okay, it would appear I can't keep to any kind of deadline when it comes to writing, so I apologise for the random upload days. And can I say a massive thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/started following because of the last chapter? Seriously, you're all getting internet high fives as soon as I figure out how to do that!  
Enjoy, m'lovelies,**  
**- Amy xx**

It can't just be me who feels all Twilight-Zone-y when they find schoolwork from years ago? I mean, we only left like a week ago but finding work from senior year is already pretty surreal, especially when it's not even mine. Over the four years, I managed to steal at least one assignment from every person in every one of my classes. That's my claim to fame. Not the best one I hold, but the one that annoyed everyone the most.  
00  
'Kenneth McCormick, clean your goddamn room!' his mother's voice, hoarse from years of smoking and heated arguments, reverberated around the newly-clean living room  
'Why should I?' he responded lazily, already knowing the answer  
Instead of gracing him with an answer, she merely stood in the doorframe and sent him a glare that, at one point, may have actually killed him. Standing with a sigh, he ran a hand through his tousled blond hair and headed towards the room he'd lived in for the past eighteen years. He surveyed the mess with a grimace and sent mental curses to his sister; it was her boyfriend coming over, her fault the entire house had to be cleaned, because the brilliant Token Black should never be subjected to the reality of a lower class household. Kenny couldn't begrudge Karen for wanting to try though. Whilst he didn't fully agree with the pair's relationship, on the grounds that his sister was still only fifteen and Token was also eighteen, he couldn't have thought of a better man for her. For all of his airs and graces at heart Token was just a kid looking to fit in, just like Karen was. So here it was that he was being forced to sort his room, just in attempt to keep his sister happy.  
It was twenty minutes later, when the floor was beginning to become visible again, that he found The Box – his collection of private things. Surprisingly, the items within it weren't rude or inappropriate, they were just very personal. Already bored of tidying, Kenny sat on his bed, clutching his box with such care he thought his arms might shatter from the stress of it, and opened it. He pulled out an old movie ticket for Asses of Fire, burnt slightly on one corner. A Faith+1 CD followed, and a Christmas card from Satan that had him smiling over the irony. Random phone numbers scribbled onto scraps of paper, neatly bound with an oversized black paperclip he'd stolen from Henrietta in the 6th grade. Over ten years of memories filled his head, making him smile, laugh and, at the last item, feel his eyes prickle. It was the first assignment he'd ever 'collected', one of Kyle's from junior year. Some substitute who was convinced it was their first day of high school had made them write, just to clear their heads "in preparation for the next four years", in whatever format they wanted. Kenny himself had decided to be as annoying as possible and text information about himself to random numbers. But Kyle... his work was beautiful. It was a long-since-accepted fact that Kyle Isaac Broflovski put more than 100% concentration and effort into every piece of schoolwork he did, but this was more than an assignment. He'd bared his soul, wrote it out in his neat handwriting, and let it be stolen and hidden in a box for over a year and a half.

_I was told to write, so I decided to write about what I know least about: myself.  
My name is Kyle Broflovski. I'm nearly seventeen, and a junior at Park High. I could list facts for pages and pages; I could talk about how I run track, about my best friends, my daily routines and any habits I have. I could, but I'm not going to. I know very little about who I am, and far too much about what I do.  
Maybe I'm not making much sense. I've never been part of a stereotypical high school clique, no-one's ever been able to fit me into a neat little box and put a label on it. If I don't fit, then who am I? I'm Jewish, that's a big part of my life, but it was never a choice. I was born, and I was Jewish. Just as I was born, and I was a Broflovski. I was born, and I had genes that I'd had no say in. There are choices I have made that have also affected who I am, but are they all I am, all I'll ever be? Am I truly the decision to drink coffee black or smoke menthols? Am I the clothes I'm wearing now, the way I've styled my hair today, the food I eat? Am I the pain in my mother's eyes when she talks about the daughter she thought I would be? The disappointment in my brothers when he wants scandalous stories and is reminded all over again that I know so little about that part of life? If these things make up who I am, then I am most definitely not a unique person. What makes me 'me', what makes me different from everyone else? I could say my best friend, Stan Marsh, on the grounds that I've never met anyone else as brilliant, down to the core, and he chose me as his best friend. Maybe it's not the choices people make that make them special. Some people must just be born it, born to shine, and some must be born to be shined on. If everyone was brilliant, no-one would be.  
My name is Kyle Broflovski. I'm nearly seventeen, and a junior at Park High. I'm Jewish, but that's not who I am. I'm short; I have red hair and green eyes. I exist to make people seem dazzling. It is not a role I chose, but it is not one I have refuted.  
My name is Kyle Broflovski. I exist.  
_00  
It's a weird thing to see someone being happy, and being unable to help yourself sharing in their happiness. Token bought Karen a promise ring, and it wasn't because he had to. There wasn't going to be a shotgun wedding, not because of my baby sister anyway. Maybe I should ask Wendy what she wants to do about that, whether she'd mind the kid being a bastard.  
Shit. It's a kid. It'll be a person one day. It'll look at me with happiness shining in its eyes and show me the ring they've given or received, like Karen's doing now.  
Just shit. I need to smoke, and I need to see Wendy and there's so much I need to do... Maybe I shouldn't smoke. Fuck it; if I'm going to have a kid I'm gonna get my life sorted. No more smoking or picking up random chicks, or anything fun... Shit, who the fuck am I becoming?


	14. Costumes

**Oh hi! Happy (early) Halloween! What else could I do? It's Halloween, meaning it's time for a Halloween-themed chapter! So, as they're teenagers, that means only a few things: Drama, alcohol, and more drama! **  
**So, I'll leave you to make up your own minds about where this is going (major hint here guys)**  
**Enjoy!**  
**- Amy xx**

Halloween has always been my favourite holiday. Maybe it should be Hanukkah or Passover or some other stereotypically Jewish holiday, but it's always been Halloween. The thrill of becoming someone else, even for just a night, is an unmatchable feeling to me. It makes people laugh, the costumes I choose, because I don't go for the cliché superheroes, celebrities bore me, and there are enough monsters in my head to stop me making them my physical form. So I go for people I know, and stun them by portraying them perfectly.  
00  
_October 31__st__, three years ago  
_Kyle was almost quivering with excitement and nerves. He knew full well that he'd probably put too much effort into his costume, but this year was different than all the others. Last year, he'd thought he'd given himself an easy task by choosing someone he didn't know that well, but he'd quickly found out that Craig actually still hated himself and his friends, and didn't appreciate being studied. So this year he'd chosen someone he knew better than he knew himself: Stan. Who had, unbelievably, been the most difficult person he could've chosen. Because he knew Stan. Knew his speech patterns. Knew his habits, his mannerisms. Kyle could pick the exact shade of Stan's eyes from a colour chart. And so he was determined to use all this knowledge, this Database of Stan, to create him, with none of the evil-scientist implications.  
'Kyle bubbe, are you nearly ready? Your little friends are here to get you' his mother called from the lower floor. Looking in the mirror one last time, he nodded at the reflection staring back at him and slipped into an easy smile, just like he'd seen Stan do a thousand times before.  
Their faces were priceless. Whilst their costumes were admittedly also very good, it was clear that Kyle had won any unspoken competition they'd had.  
'Stan, why've you got changed? I know Harry Potter was a faggy costume bu-'  
'Shut up Cartman, I'm right here'  
Stan grew closer, removing his fake glasses, his face awe-struck. At this proximity, Kyle felt a thrill course through his veins as he confirmed to himself that he had, in fact, managed to get contacts in the exact same perfect shade as Stan's. That had been his main problem for weeks. Cutting and straightening his hair had been no bother, nor had wearing just enough fake tan. Getting his mother to give him permission to temporarily dye his hair black has been tricky, as had getting clothes that he knew Stan would wear. It was worth it though, to see the look on Stan's face.  
'We...' Stan whispered 'We should get going, you know how pissy Clyde gets when people are really late'  
'Yeah' Kyle replied, using vocal inflections he'd practiced during weeks of his Stan-study 'Let's go'.  
00

_October 31__st__, present year  
_'Bubbe, are you ready for your party?' his mother's voice had softened over time, there was no impatience, no undertones of snappiness  
'Yeah' he called back 'Is Stan here yet?'  
It had been Stan's idea to go to the party, Token's Halloween/Promise party, in a desperate attempt to get Kyle to leave the house and begin returning to normality. It had been an almost painfully slow progress. Kyle had reverted back into himself almost immediately after his outburst at Stan, only leaving his house when he had to, or when Stan dragged him to shops or to the coffee shop.  
'He's here' there was a smile in her voice 'I think he's looking forward to seeing your costume'  
Rather than replying, and without the habitual final glance in the mirror, he descended the stairs.

Stan was speechless. More shocked than he was three years ago, when he'd glanced up the staircase and seen himself coming down them. Kyle was... Kyle. But a different Kyle. His skin wasn't translucently pale, it was more like cream and roses, healthy and glowing. His hair once again hung in soft curls that framed his face, rather than the electrified dry frizz Stan had become accustomed to. Most impossibly however, was his body; He was no longer the living skeleton that must have escaped from Stan's nightmares. He was a healthy weight, with small but definite muscles pushing through the fabric of his long-sleeved t-shirt.  
Kyle paused, gauging their reactions.  
His mother had her hands on her face, silent tears streaking down her face. It had been difficult for Kyle to hide his costume from her, but he'd obviously managed it well enough.  
Stan's face, however, was a mix of more emotions than Kyle had thought it possible to show. Happiness mixed with sadness, shock mixed with familiarity, a glitter of tears mixed with the beginning of a smile. Kyle didn't wait for either of them to regain the power of speech before he leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on his mother's cheek, and nodded at Stan to follow him out of the door. He was beyond relieved to see Stan's crappy car idling in the driveway, as the alternative was walking to Token's in the snow, avoiding stilted conversations with his once-a-super-best-friend.

00  
'KYLE, HAVE YOU TRIED THIS?' Stan roared over the din of the party, holding a bottle of dark purple liquid over his head, somehow managing to avoid spilling any of it  
Kyle just rolled his eyes and shook his head, prompting Stan to stagger over to his seat and pour a generous amount into his diet coke before he could even begin to protest.  
'Drink it! Tastes like summer'  
'But dude, we're nearly in winter...'  
'Just drink it Kyle, or I'll tell your mommy that you're not playing nice'  
A scowl on his face Kyle chugged the drink, noticing that it did in fact taste like summer berries.  
'There, was that so bad?'  
'Stan, you're drunk' Kyle said flatly, crushing his cup in his hand absent-mindedly  
'NO I'M NOT. I'm nowhere near DRUNK' Stan was clearly having problems controlling his volume, and this was strangely endearing to Kyle, whose head was already starting to feel different  
'CAN WE GO upstairs? I want to talk to you PROPERLY, KYLE'  
With a chuckle, Kyle allowed himself to be led through the throngs of people dancing drunkenly, up the sweeping flight of stairs, and into an empty room that was clearly a guest room.  
'We're here, talk.' Kyle started, but he was interrupted by Stan pulling a small hipflask from his pocket, a devious glint in his eye  
'Dare you' he half-slurred  
Kyle just shook his head, feeling the hair he'd drowned in conditioner starting to frizz back to its original dry state  
'Chicken! BOK BOK BOK BOK BOK BOOOOKKKKKKK!'  
Shame rising in his face like an ugly blush, Kyle snatched the glinting silver from the other boy's hand and drank several mouthfuls of the strong-smelling liquid before stopping, throat burning, eyes streaming, and head swimming.  
'You dick' his words slurred.  
'I never said you HAD to do it, I just said you were a chicken for NOT doing it'  
Angered at Stan's self-defence Kyle rubbed a hand down his face, smearing the carefully applied 'healthy-looking' makeup, and smacked Stan on the arm.  
'OI, don't smack me' Stan slapped Kyle back.  
Head still swimming, Kyle grabbed a handful of Stan's hair and pulled it childishly, to which Stan responded by shoving Kyle's chest, hard. Kyle fell back, landing on something soft and realising he was both on a double bed, and hadn't let go of Stan's hair. Meaning the noirette was sprawled on top of him, his face pressed into Kyle's collarbone. Stan's face lifted, his eyes wide, before leaning in slowly and pressing his lips unbearably softly against Kyle's own.


	15. Ivy

**Has it been a while? I'm starting to lose track! If it has, I do apologise. If it's not been that long, I still apologise! Now the last chapter wasn't as well received as I thought it would've been, seeing as it had the first actual slash-type-thing, but really, any feedback is great!  
Much love guys, **  
**Enjoy!**  
**- Amy xx**

I've never been one for giving advice, or even taking it. I'm not the strong person everyone in this Godforsaken town seems to think I am, but what the fuck do you expect? When I need advice, I used to go to Kyle, but he left. Then I went to Wendy, but fuck only knows what happened to her recently. Then I turned to alcohol, but I'm starting to learn that numbness doesn't equate strength. It's just numbness. It starts in your heart and spreads slowly; freezing everything and everyone you've ever loved, before returning to your heart and wrapping around it like ivy that tightens with every breath. I'm sick of it. I've got no idea what day it is, where I am, or why my hands hurt, but God knows I'm getting some answers before the sun sets, or there'll be Hell to pay.  
00  
Stan wasn't sure how he'd got here, but still he was. Stood outside the house of the girl he used to love as the first snowflakes of the season began their ballet to the ground. His hand was shaking with nerves as he took the final drag of his cigarette, throwing the butt into one of the shrubs that artfully decorated Wendy's front door. His fist rose to knock on the dark wood, but the door swung open before he could make contact, the light from the hallway burning his tired eyes and making them water momentarily.  
'Stan?'  
As his eyes cleared, he couldn't hold back a gasp. In the ten years he'd felt more than just friendship towards the girl in front of him, he'd never seen her look more beautiful. The waterfall of black ink he was accustomed to was far from its usual perfection, instead it was hanging past her shoulders in two loose, fat plaits. Her face, normally a perfectly made-up porcelain pale, was illuminated from within, glowing creamily like the moon on a clear night. A old band shirt and paw-print patterned pyjama trousers had replaced her normally fitted blouses and short skirts. He was struck, frozen in awe, until she cleared her throat almost awkwardly  
'Stan' she repeated 'what are you doing here?'  
'Wendy' he said, surprised at how small his voice seemed, how hoarse and cracked 'I need help'  
Her confused expression cleared as she stood aside, letting him cross over the threshold, walk through the house, and settle into the comfortable sofa in the den, the room he was most comfortable in. She joined him several minutes later, setting down the two gently steaming mugs of cocoa on the table, before turning to face him, worry shining in her violet eyes  
'Have you called your mom at all?'  
Confusion crushed his eyebrows together 'No, she's still on her tour of America, why?'  
'She's... coming back Stan' she avoided his searching gaze, reaching for her mug  
'What do you mean?'  
'Stan, you've been gone for days! You've had everyone worried. I guess Kenny called her or something, but she said she's be here as soon as she cou-'  
'-What do you mean I've been gone for days? Wendy' his hand was gripping her arm before he could wonder how it had got there 'what the fuck happened?'  
She sighed, gently disengaging her arm from his hold, and sipped her drink. Her doe eyes looked distant as she thought where to begin.  
'... You turned up at Token's with Kyle at about 8, you were a zombie, he was... himself? But like, a healthy him? That ringing any bells?'  
Stan nodded, wrapping his hands around his own mug, wincing as they stung. Glancing down, he was horrified to see his knuckles covered in bruises, his fingers torn to shreds  
'What happened to my hands?' he asked quietly, scared of breaking her concentration  
'Quiet! I'm getting there. So, you got wasted really quickly and you dragged Kyle upstairs, I'm not sure what happened...'  
Silver flask flashing. Chicken. Feather light slap.. Softness. Pressure on his mouth. Completeness.  
Shit.  
'... Then Bebe said you kinda staggered back downstairs, went outside, threw up, smoked a cigarette...'  
Burning throat. Grass in his hair. Ash in his eye.  
'... Cartman came out, you started trying to yell at him? I got this from Clyde, and you know how much he lies, but he said you kept screaming about pills or something...'  
Two pills. Baby pink and baby blue stars in Kyle's hand. Emeralds crying diamonds.  
'...You punched him a bit, and I think he must've he fought back. I came out, and he just stopped, and helped you back inside...'  
Gleaming surfaces. Icy water. Head spinning.  
'... Then you just upped and left, people said you went up to Starks, but everyone's been up there about 5 times each, and you've never been there...'  
Not Starks. The woods. Big trees. Trees with faces. Dancing with fire.  
'... So now it's your turn Stan, what happened to you? What went on with you and Kyle?'  
He was frozen again, memories swirling through his mind too fast to comprehend. What had happened with him and Kyle? Where was Kyle now, for that matter?  
'Wendy, where's Kyle?'  
Her face fell slightly at his question before she composed herself, her hand inexplicably falling to her stomach  
'I imagine he's at home.' Her voice was curt and she stood up, collecting the now empty cups before turning, a pensive look gracing her gentle features  
'If you see him, tell him... Tell him I miss him.' Their eyes met, midsummer morning clashing against midnight velvet, and he couldn't help but stand and hug her, his arms finding their familiar place around her narrow waist.  
'I will, I promise'  
Pressing his lips against her forehead, he left without another word.  
00  
It didn't take long to reach Kyle's house, it never took long to get anywhere in a place as small as South Park, but Stan was still breathless as he pounded the door, not caring that he still didn't know what time it was, not caring who he could be waking up. He had to see Kyle.  
'Stanley!' Mrs Broflovski exclaimed as she opened the door 'Where have you been, your mother's been worried sick!'  
'I... Know...' he gasped 'Need to... See Kye!'  
Her eyebrows furrowed in concern  
'Stanley, why don't you come inside? I'll make you some cocoa if you want?'  
'NO!' Stan couldn't help but sound rude. Sheila however, for once, seemingly understood. Her expression was wavering on the edge of an emotion Stan couldn't decipher, before he found himself enveloped in her clean smelling, strangely comforting embrace.  
'Oh Stanley, I thought you knew' his silence must have answered her unasked question, because she continued,  
'He's gone back to hospital, dear. His home visit ended two days ago, I dropped him back off at the clinic'  
The world went dark. He vaguely heard her saying that he had left Stan something, at his house, in his room. Kyle had been in his room when he wasn't. He wouldn't have touched anything unnecessary, wouldn't have made any kind of mess, and Stan knew that when – if – he returned home, there'd be next to no trace the redhead had ever been there.  
Kyle was gone.  
Stan was alone.  
00  
There are no words for what I'm feeling. I did go home, let my mom know I was safe and she could continue trekking over the country. I must be a good actor, because she didn't notice anything wrong. And now I've just been lying on my bed. For days. Kyle left this book on my bed, his only trace. I've not had the heart to look through it yet, but it looks familiar for some reason. Not that I could tell you why. Let's just say the bottles Kyle freaked out over? The number's doubled. And the ivy around my heart is squeezing tighter with every breath.


	16. Cupcakes

**To new and old readers alike: Hello! Do I realise this is probably the shortest chapter I've written for this story? Yes. Does this upset me? Yes. Very much so. Even still, it is actually pretty crucial to the rest of the story, which brings me to my next point: This does need to end at some point. I've already started drafting two possible endings, actually, so I just need to ask is what kind of ending do you want? Obviously an all-singing, all-dancing, everyone's happy kind of ending wouldn't fit at all, but would you prefer a (put bluntly) tragic ending, or a slightly more hopeful one? Leave me a PM, or just comment as normal. Anyway,  
Enjoy!**  
**- Amy xx**

When I was younger, I was overweight. My mom loved to cook, loved me, and it wasn't long before the two merged and I started trying to cook. It came in useful when she started going out more, and I was left alone more. The first thing I ever made perfectly and the thing that I'm still proudest of? Cupcakes. Call it faggy, and I'll have your balls in my hand before you can even fucking breathe. Baking is goddamn relaxing, so fuck you.  
00  
'Dude, where'd you get these cakes? They're fucking ace' Kenny almost moaned, reaching for his third before having his hand slapped away  
'I made them' Cartman replied  
'You bake?' Kenny barely suppressed a snort, knowing his best friend's tendency for revenge, but couldn't stop his cerulean eyes from glittering wildly.  
'Yes.' Cartman's voice was dangerously close to being a growl 'And they're not for you, po'boy, so stop fucking inhaling them'  
Kenny was saved from having to reply by a frantic hammering on Eric's front door. Cartman raised an eyebrow, silently telling the blond to go get it. Kenny complied.  
'Kenny!' Stan exclaimed the minute the door was open a crack 'Where the fuck is he?'  
The blond boy stepped aside as Stan shoved the door open, watching the noirette shoot through to the kitchen.  
Cartman's head snapped up as he heard the approaching whirlwind, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge the explosion of pain across his already-bruised face as Stan's fist made contact. Despite the pain, Eric didn't flinch. He just caught the second fist in his hand, twisting it behind the ex-quarterback's back painfully. Stan dropped to his knees like a stone. Cartman released him.  
'What happened.' There was no inflection in Stan's words, no emotion behind them. To Cartman, he just sounded tired. Tired, and desperately miserable.  
'I don't know what you're talking about' Cartman worked hard to keep his voice completely level, as emotionless as Stan's. He was telling the truth, regardless of the guilty flutter in his stomach.  
'Kyle,' Stan said simply 'Tell me what happened to Kyle'  
Cartman sighed, offering Stan his hand and pulling him to his feet before sitting down heavily at the table.  
'Cupcake?' he asked, gesturing at the perfectly-decorated cakes  
'No. Tell me about Kyle.'  
Eric rubbed his eyes with one hand. This was going to be difficult.  
'No, Stan.' Stan opened his mouth to protest, but was cut across 'He told me not to. Okay? The fucking fag made me swear on it'  
'Don't call him a fag, you fuck!' Stan was standing tall now, looming over his almost-friend, a maniacal fire burning in his sapphire eyes 'He was getting better! He was eating, he was doing so much better and then you come along and throw pills at him again. What the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously Cartman, what is wrong with you?'  
Eric hadn't moved at all during Stan's rant, but he nodded as he noticed Kenny hovering, unsure, in the doorway. The blond looked panicked, shaking his head furiously, but stopped when he took note of the determination in the brunet's expression.  
'Stan.' Eric's voice was quiet, but still made Stan stop yelling 'Kyle didn't take the fucking pills.' He paused, narrowing rust-coloured eyes.  
'You did.'  
00  
Ever have that moment where you know where you are, but you can't for the life of you remember how you got there? Take now, for instance. I told Stan about his stupidity at Tokens, and now we're both packing some shit into my car because somehow, the douche convinced me that driving to Denver to see Kyle is the best idea any of us has ever had. Except Kenny's not going. He's got some kind of job or some shit, because he just 'needs one' all of a sudden. So it's just me and Stan. Because being locked in a car together for about an hour is a fucking great idea. Fuck, I've brought the goddamn cupcakes. I'm just really fucking glad Kenny didn't figure out they were filled with pot, and it's not like I'm going to tell Stan, is it? He just needs to fucking calm down, and they'll do perfectly.


	17. Smile

**Hello hello hello!  
I'm so sorry for disappearing for so long, I could ramble on and on about why, but there's really no point is there? I'm just happy to say that I'm back, and that I look forward to seeing who remembers this story, and who has only recently discovered it. I realise that this chapter is ridiculously short, and nothing really much happens, but trust me when I say it's building to something big. And by creating this build-up, I promise that I will never again let 6 months pass between uploading!  
With as many apologies as I can muster,  
Enjoy!  
- Amy xx**

It's weird what brings people together. People can bond over music, books, films, art, and even problems. Other times, you can just be bored and desperate for some kind of company that isn't a bitch carrying your kid. I get that women get hormonal when they're pregnant and stuff like that, but there is a limit. And the never-ending routine of working so I can buy pregnancy vitamins so Wendy's got the energy to yell at me that I need to work more so I can buy more... Let's just say any man would look for someone else to spend time with. It's just lucky for me that the perfect person happened to stumble back into my life when he did.  
00  
'H-hiya Kenny!' The forever-chipper voice of Butters Stotch somehow managed to break through the fog filling Kenny's ears as the neon-blond reached the counter.  
Kenny merely grunted as he scanned the smaller boy's items through, bagging them as he went. A small box of eggs. Miniature loaf of pre-sliced wholemeal bread. Pint of low-fat milk. Single tub of yoghurt. Single apple. Single-serving-size packet of banana chips. Kenny's mind wandered as his hands completed the simple task; he was sure Butters had been in a relationship with someone... Rebecca, maybe? The last he'd heard, they'd been planning on moving in together, but there was no way someone as sweet as Butters would only buy groceries for himself. His mind focusing for the first time, he realised Butters had been talking, oblivious to Kenny's absence from the conversation  
'-o idea you worked here! I was going to ask for an interview but I figured since I'm moving soon there'd be no point. I hope there'll be work in New York, I think my parents would make me come back if they knew that I was working in a supermarket though, they think I should focus completely on my studi-'  
'Butters' Kenny cut across him, 'What happened to you and Rebecca?'  
Butters' face flushed rose pink as his baby-blue eyes dropped  
'She... She broke up with me two weeks ago'  
Kenny's mind was reeling. It seemed inconceivable to him that other people's lives had continued as normal despite all the drama and tension emanating from his own social group. Noticing a queue forming behind Butters, he checked through the rest of the small boy's items, took the bills offered, and handed back the correct change with a casual smile  
'You free at about 5?' Butters nodded 'That's when I get off, we should have a catch up, I can't believe how much I've missed'  
With a smile that lit up his entire face, Butters took his bags  
'I'll see you later then Kenny'  
00  
Try and guess what happened next. I know what you're thinking, that I threw away the reputation I'm just acquiring with Wendy by staying out all night, getting trashed, and inevitably sleeping with South Park's resident prude? No. We went for coffee, and it was nice. Butters knows a lot more gossip than I'd thought he would, like how close Craig and Tweek have got and the rumours surrounding this, but I think I would've enjoyed myself even if he hadn't known anything. He's an outsider, a bit like me, and that bitch Rebecca has no idea what she's lost in him. He's sweet, a bit too shy, smart (apparently he finished second in our class, after Wendy), but his confidence has definitely grown. It was easy to talk to him, I guess. Which made walking to Wendy's house at 8 all the more painful. So I'll stay outside.  
With Butters.  
And resist the temptation to notice his smile again.


End file.
